


Earth Tet Adventures

by noc_lilo



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, Gen, LEWD, Lolicon, Multi, Other, Parallel Universe, Porn With Plot, Sex World, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 09:03:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noc_lilo/pseuds/noc_lilo
Summary: A young man bound for the Birdcage for his own safety is instead hurled into a parallel universe alongside two notorious villains, where he must take advantage of this second chance to start a new life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [This is also an ongoing quest on QQ. If you like what you see - or don't like it and think you can fix things - go ahead and vote on the quest over there!]
> 
> https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/earth-tet-adventures-worm.5596/

_“Hey. Hey, fucktard. Jesus, do you smelly, old assholes just spend the whole fucking day sleeping? Wake up!”_  
  
With a groan, you stir into the realm of the living, eyes blinking the crust of sleep away. There’s a kink in your lower neck, a downside of nodding off while in an upright position. You try to sit up to your full height, only for your forearms to yank you back down as if by an invisible force.  
  
You look down to see yourself glued, chained, and practically welded to a metal bench. If you were blearily awake before, now you’re alert and on edge, adrenaline pumping through you. That hum in the back of your head, it’s from a moving vehicle, the tread of tires along a highway. Your knees are cramped because this pile of foam is restricting all movement below your mid-chest. And that annoying, childish-sounding voice is…  
  
“Motherfuckin’ _finally_ ,” the girl complains. She raps her manacled wrists against the metal wall of the van to draw your attention. “Sweet, dribbling asscracks, please tell me you aren’t blind or deaf or...retarded or some shit.”  
  
It takes a second to register that she’s talking to you, but you shake your head slowly. “No...no, I’m fine.”  
  
Except for being stuck in what appears to be a mostly-empty containment van. It’s all coming back to you now - the accident at the club, the hushed interrogations and under-the-table deals, and then the expedited trial…all to bring you safely to this point. En route to the _Birdcage_.  
  
Your eyes roam around the cramped quarters. Directly across from you is a beat-up Hispanic guy who is still conked out. He looks to be in his mid-twenties. If you thought _you_ had it bad, he’s up to his neck in the containment foam and has an uncomfortable-looking blindfold bound tightly around his head. They really spared no measures on him.  
  
To the man’s right is the girl who called you out. Her appearance is markedly different: her dirty blonde hair is up in curls as if ready for sunday school, her face is spotless aside from some telling red splotches around her eyes, and she looks like she couldn’t be older than ten. _Maybe_ eleven, if you were feeling generous.  
  
Her restraints are a bit more conservative compared to your own. Her legs are still mostly buried in a mountain of the stuff, but the only thing hampering full range of motion for her arms is a pair of handcuffs. She appears to be wearing a prettied-up gray jumpsuit.  
  
But still...she’s just a _child_. She sneers at you. Maybe even a cute kid, in more forgiving circumstances. She notices you staring at her silently for a minute and shrugs, turning away to scowl at the front wall of the van.  
  
“Bullshit, right?” she says, indicating the oversized manacles that are clamped against the skin of her slim, tan wrists. “I tried to get my lawyer to get me off easy, but I still have to deal with _this_ fucking up my skin. I’m probably gonna have _chaffing_ on my wrists. You know, it’s hard enough on the rep if I look young, now I’m gonna have this emo-looking bullshit bringing down my rankings.”  
  
“Um,” you manage to respond eloquently. Her nose crinkles up.  
  
“ _Oh_. You weren’t in the game for your rankings were you? So what was it? Money, revenge? Were you just bored?” She taps her chin. “Or maybe you _liked_ killing. That’s what you did, right? You don’t get sent to the motherfuckin’ Birdcage unless you did something real fucked up. Or did a _lot_ of shit. C’mon, dude, spill! What was it?”  
  
“Accident!” you finally blurt out. She raises an eyebrow in disbelief, but seems content to sit back and listen. She gestures at you with her cuffed hands, as if to say _you’ve got the floor_. “It was an accident. Didn’t kill anybody, but...what I did, people probably won’t come back from. It wasn’t a proud moment. I...I fucked up.”  
  
“Aw man!” the girl complains, sounding incredibly annoyed. Like you’d inconvenienced her by having a tragic backstory, or something. “I thought I was gonna meet a bunch of badasses in the Birdcage, but so far it’s just a Mister _Siesta_ over here and you, a little _bitch_.”  
  
You frown at her. “I-”  
  
“You should know something about the Birdcage, bitch. About capes, really. When it comes down to it, you either watch out for yourself, your _rep_ , or you act like a bleedin’ heart pussy and get your ass handed to you.”

  
You’re not sure how to respond at first. _I’m not a little bitch, bitch,_ you think childishly, offended. Too late, you realize you must have said that aloud. The girl seems to be holding back a broad grin. Before you can parse the fact that you’re defending yourself to a little girl, you add, “I can be badass if I want!”  
  
This time the girl doesn’t even bother to hold back her peals of laughter. After almost a minute of indulging herself, she tries to cover her face with her mouth, but several unladylike snorts still escape her. She coughs in a futile attempt to break up the bout of giggles. “Okay, now this I _have_ to hear. What exactly is so badass about you, Mister Bee-Ay-Em-Eff?”  
  
You narrow your eyes. This is just getting insulting. Against your better judgment, you decide to show this kid what you’re really capable of. “How about this?”  
  
Like a magician flourishing his hands for a trick, you shake your arms out in front of you. The heavy, arm-encasing shackles that were pinning your hands down disappear, instead materializing over the girl’s daintier handcuffs. She lets a shriek as both pairs of restraints almost immediately slip off of her slender arms and clatter to the floor of the van.  
  
Two bottle-glass green eyes dart up to meet yours. “Okay. You’ve got my attention.”  
  
“That’s all I can do right now,” you admit, a bit sheepish after the more impressive display. “I need people watching me to use my power. Maybe if _that_ guy were awake - and, you know, not blindfolded - I could move _you_.”  
  
“A voyeur, huh?” she says cheekily. “Or is it exhibitionist? _I_ think both can be pretty hot in the right circumstances…”  
  
“Um...”  
  
“Wow, you really are a tightass, huh?” she muses. She gives you a once over and seems to find something about you lacking. “Don’t act all high and mighty, dude, I bet you’re not that much older than me.”  
  
“I’m nineteen,” you tell her, deadpan.  
  
“I’m eighteen!” she shoots back. She wilts a bit at your expression. “Well, seventeen. But close enough for government work. _Literally_.”  
  
“But...you’re a kid.” You scratch your head, trying to look like you know what’s going on but utterly failing.  
  
“I have mcfucking superpowers, dickwad!” She waves a hand in the air, mimicking some sort of mystical gesture. “I just...age slower is all. I’m not a kid.”  
  
“Seventeen is still a child, technically.”  
  
“Oh, _blow_ me, asshole,” the girl snaps back. On cue with her outburst, the containment foam at her feet bubbles dangerously. Quick flashes of orange fire escape, nothing substantial. When you look back up at her, though, her whole outfit is smoking. The pants of her prison uniform hang in smoldering tatters, revealing the unblemished flesh of her legs. You jerk your head away, focusing on Mister _Siesta_.  
  
“Fuckin’ prude,” you hear the girl mumble. The next half hour is spent in relative silence, but for the clank of discarded restraints on the floor.  
  
“I didn’t catch your name,” you finally say quietly. She takes awhile to respond, likely exulting in the fact that it was you who broke the silence. Seconds tick by.  
  
“I’m Bambina,” she says. She sounds proud at the revelation, but the name doesn’t mean much to you. That just serves to annoy her. “The terrors of Las Vegas? Assault, battery, kidnapping, homicide, et cetera?”  
  
“Sorry.” You’re inexplicably feeling a bit more tense. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Las Vegas, though? Why are you here in New England?”  
  
“Endbringer,” Bambina answers, as if that explains everything. It sort of does. “Came to fight Leviathan, got bored, so I bounced. Unfortunately, looks like the heroes were waiting for that. Somethin’ about my killing a guy while the truce or whatever was still in swing. Very hush-hush, which fuckin’ bites.”  
  
“How do you mean?”  
  
“Are you kidding me?” Her face splits into a childlike smile. “I’m finally going to the Birdcage! Only problem is that nobody knows I made it big. ‘Cept Star, I guess, since she was my phonecall. Lazy twat probably didn’t even call my mom. Much less the media.”  
  
You’re starting to realize that, maybe, the people who go to the Birdcage are sent there for a reason. This girl, young as she might seem - young as she _is_ \- is no exception. She’s got a rap sheet and her one regret is probably that it’s not longer.  
  
“I never caught _yours_ ,” Bambina calls out to you. You look back at her, startled and confused. She clarifies, “your name, dumbass. I show you mine, you show me yours, is how it works in prison, right?”  
  
You’ve never been to prison before.  
  
“I’m Thomas,” you inform her. She rolls her eyes, gazing heavenward.  
  
“Fine, fine. Screw it, my rankings don’t mean anything where we’re going.” She screws up her face in distaste. “I’m _Helena_.”  
  
“That’s a pretty name,” is your automatic response.  
  
“Not as pretty as Bambina, though, right?” Helena preens. “Speaking of, where we’re goin’, you’re gonna want a cape name like me. Like that asshole over there.” She jerks a thumb at the blindfolded guy who’s still sawing logs. “It’s not about rankings, though, it’s about staying alive. Sounding important enough to stay alive, at least.”  
  
“Can’t think of any good ones,” you remark, injecting a bit of annoyance into your voice. “You already said Voyeur, right? And Exhibitionist is a bit too long. I was thinking of calling myself Audience, before the accident, but it seems...dishonoring.”  
  
“I dunno, sounds fine to me,” Bambina replies. She rolls the word around in her mouth. “Sounds pretty hoity-toity. Think you can live up to that?”  
  
“Where we’re headed?” you ask. She shrugs. “I think I can do what I have to do to get by.”  
  
Mister _Siesta_ lets out a groan that is probably not too dissimilar from the sound that you made when you first woke up. He jerks back, banging his head against the wall of the van behind him, when he finds himself blind and restrained.  
  
“W-what the fuck?? Where am I? Accord? Who’s out there?”  
  
Bambina sighs mightily and mirrors the man’s action, letting her head thud into the wall of the van. Loudly. “Shut him up somehow, will you, Audy?”  
  
You shoot her a glare for the unwarranted nickname but nevertheless comply. Your eyes narrow in focus, you stare straight at the man’s blindfold, feeling the combined gazes of yourself, Helena, and him, and…  
  
The blindfold disappears from existence with a deafening crack of thunder. Without the blindfold, you recognize the man as a hometown villain. His name is Blasto, and he’s some sort of bio-tinker.  
  
Helena’s eyes widen in shock. “Holy shit! What just happened?”  
  
“The same thing that landed me in here, with you,” you respond grimly. Your hands ball up in your lap, but the girl leans in, enraptured. “Sometimes I move stuff across space, but sometimes...it goes across _dimensions_.”  
  
“Oh sweet Jesus,” Blasto finally speaks. “I’m stuck in here with the crazies, aren’t I?”

* * *

**Earth Tet Adventures**

* * *

  
  
It takes a bit of fast thinking to keep Blasto and Bambina from each other’s throats (they’re acquainted), get introduced to him, and get the poor man a bit more comfortable. Once that’s settled, though, he seems a bit more cordial.  
  
“I shouldn’t be here either,” he confides in you, sounding conspiratorial. “I wasn’t a saint or anything, but Accord is the one who almost got me tagged with a kill order. Thank god I turned myself in to the PRT first.”  
  
Bambina looks put out at being excluded from the conversation, however futile the attempt to whisper is. Meanwhile, you’re not so sure of Blasto’s - of Rey’s - innocence. Maybe he had been dealt a bad hand, but you also knew that he was responsible for a lot of property damage and more than a few missing person cases.  
  
Hell, even Bambina is distrustful of him for that. She claims he snatched kids.  
  
“I never set out to be some sort of crime lord,” Rey continues with a shrug. He’s an animated speaker, but can’t make full use of his hands. “I just wanted to tinker in peace. But you can’t be a tinker and be an independent, especially not in Accord’s town. Had to go villain.”  
  
Bambina snorts, and Rey turns on her. You can feel the start of a killer headache in the back of your skull.  
  
“Nobody asked you, little Miss Murderess. Remember the last time you ran afoul of Accord and got a dozen people killed? I never did something that reckless.”  
  
“I wasn’t judging you for your _misdeeds_ , Assto,” the girl snarks in reply. “I just think that for the rep you’ve got, you’re a fucking pussy. Only wet-tinker on the East Coast that isn’t a fuckin’ psychopath, big deal. Bet you can’t get us out of _here_.”  
  
“No shit,” Rey says flatly, casting a meaningful look at his containment foam. He turns to you. “Teleporter, right? Can you get us out of here?”  
  
“Uh, it’s not that simple, unfortunately.” You rub the back of your head to try and soothe your building migraine, feeling self-conscious about your powers for once. These two people are _big-name_ villains, as petty as they may be in the flesh. “If you didn’t guess, I need an audience to really use my powers to their fullest. With you guys watching, I could maybe juggle us around the van. Not sure about the foam. But without several people watching from outside, who I can see, who have a clear line of sight for the-”  
  
“We get it, we get it, your power fucking sucks,” Bambina interrupts rudely. Her power flares again around her bared legs, drawing your and Blasto’s gazes. The two of you avert your eyes almost immediately, but you can imagine the smug look on her face. “Guess we’re stuck here.”  
  
“Where is ‘here’, anyway?” Rey inquires, his curiosity or fear outweighing his pride.  
  
“Ten miles until we hit Brockton Bay and counting,” the girl answers precisely. She cocks her head to the side. “Or what’s left of Brockton Bay, I guess.”  
  
“How did you know that?” It’s your turn to be curious, despite how much it hurts to even work your jaw. Bambina just looks...contemplative, though, not even reveling in how she has become the center of attention yet again.  
  
“Guess they’d call it a Thinker power or somethin’. It lets me know what’s up or down, left and right, but when I’m not moving, it gets better. I know exactly where I am - exactly where we’ve been, since I woke up.”  
  
“And I didn’t even get to keep my fungi,” Blasto mutters. He sounds jealous. “Sometimes I think Tinkers get dealt the worst hand. You know how rare a secondary power is for us? I’ve asked around Toybox, trust me, it’s rare as hell.”  
  
“I suppose I’ve got a Thinker power too,” you muse aloud. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you can still tell when the van’s other occupants turn to you. “Shit. Ow. Yeah, when someone looks at me, it lets me use my power, right? So I can tell when people are looking at me...where else they can see…”  
  
“You okay there, Voyeur?” Bambina prods. Her voice feels like someone took a metal bat to the back of your skull. “Lookin’ pretty wasted right now. Is it ‘cause you have to look at this asswipe’s face, because I’m not feeling too hot either.”  
  
You hiss in through your team. Taste blood. “Shut up, just shut up,” you growl. Your hands press against your temples but it doesn’t block out the pain. The physical sensation is starting to build into something more. A visceral, vocal _scream_. “Someone’s watching us. A lot of someones. Or...something _big_.”  
  
Rey sounds concerned. “Could it be Dragon? I know she runs the Birdcage, maybe she has some cameras or-”  
  
“It’s not like that! It’s-”  
  
The whole world flashes white. The scream in your mind starts to rescind only to be replaced by those of Blasto and Bambina. It feels like you’re in freefall, every hair standing on end and your skin stretched to its limits until…  
  
Until the van crashes to the ground again. You can feel the tires shred almost immediately, followed by the shrieking of the van as it begins to tilt dangerously to one side. The others with you are eerily silent, which only makes your screams seem louder.  
  
The van skids on its side for what feels like a hundred meters, bouncing and jostling the lot of you until it halts suddenly.  
  
It takes you a few minutes to get your bearings. You can feel blood dripping down from your head - the van, as sturdy as it was, did not treat you well. It was only the layers of thick containment foam that kept you all from being killed upon landing. Or hurtling across what felt like a rough terrain. Or crashing into...something bigger than the van.  
  
Needless to say, it’s not surprising that the containment foam has _mostly_ remained intact. When you wriggle your legs, however, you find that there’s more give than there was before.  
  
Apparently even the PRT’s miracle concoction can withstand your particular brand of transport. The kind of transport that you suspect took you...well, a lot farther than a containment van is designed to go. It’s nighttime, from what you can see through the gaping holes in your van, but you can tell the sky is _far_ too clean for this to be the _normal_ Brockton Bay.  
  
Another mighty thrust and you wrench free of the restraining foam - and the wall that it kept you plastered too. With the van careened on its side, you fall _downwards_ onto the plushy form of the yet-foamed-up Blasto. The man appears to be unconscious, which you don’t blame him for.  
  
“Holy shit,” Helena groans from beside you. You manage to push yourself up to check on her and wish you hadn’t. Sort of.  
  
Her clothes - what’s left of them - look more like a “trashy action heroine, post-battle” aesthetic than is appropriate for a girl her age. Or with her biological age. Whatever. Her once-gray top hangs in shreds from her shoulders, ruined. Her smooth belly rises and falls with each deep breath, left exposed to the cold air when her shirt flipped up.  
  
Sirens scream in the distance, stirring the two of you into panic. She hisses. “Fuck, I can’t move. And _that_ asshole is unconscious. Again.”  
  
“Goddammit,” you mutter. You grab a handful of the rubbery foam that is sealed around Blasto’s torso to no avail. It’ll take you awhile, but from the sound of those sirens in the distance, you’ll barely escape by the skin of your teeth. “I don’t think I can get the two of you out of this.”  
  
“Don’t bother,” Bambina snaps out. She tries to jerk herself out of her position with her power, only for her legs to snap back into their position. “My foam is loose around my legs. Use your power, _poof_ this stuff offa me, and I get us out of here in two bounces.”  
  
You cast another look down at Blasto. The man is unconscious, but he did seem a bit more put together than Helena. Definitely more responsible and mature, although that was a low bar to surpass.  
  
“What’s he gonna do? Build you a pair of stones? C’mon and help me before we run out of time!”  
  
“I...he could help,” you try, floundering. “Setting up in a new city, getting territory…”  
  
“Do you wanna play House or do you want to fucking live?” The girl finds the leverage to turn herself on her side and face you, eyes burning with anger. “I don’t know know about you, but I don’t _actually_ want to go to the goddamn Birdcage. So what’ll it be, Audience? Me and _freedom_ , or Sir Napsalot here and a nice, cushy domestic life...in a literal hell on earth?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is also an ongoing quest on QQ. If you like what you see - or don't like it and think you can fix things - go ahead and vote on the quest over there!]
> 
> https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/earth-tet-adventures-worm.5596/

_“Containment vans don’t just disappear.” Piggot strides down the halls with a hero at her side, confidence and authority supplementing up for what she lacks in physical grace. “It must be somewhere off the grid.”_  
  
 _“I would have agreed fully, Director, had not Dragon informed me of the details of this….undesirable development,” Armsmaster replies. “She has the data, or lack thereof. One moment it was there, the next there was a surge in energy - she’s calling it a_ rift _\- and the next the entire van was gone, along with her instruments.”_  
  
 _“Remind me why this is my problem?” Piggot growled, punching in the PIN code that led to her secure private office. “Those containment vans came from Boston. The prisoners were Boston villains, with the exception of Bambina who’s not even from New England. This failing should fall on their shoulders.”_  
  
 _“An unfortunate side effect of the PRT’s current structure,” Colin answers, sounding far too smug despite his deadpan tone. “Given that this issue concerns several major villains, however, I’ll be happy to take it off of your hands.”_  
  
 _“I’m sure you would,” Piggot says sourly. The hero’s face falls, a fact which does not escape the Director’s notice. “You and Dragon are the best equipped for it, I suppose...but I can’t have an outside heroine be encroaching on something that’s already become territorial. You can have your pick of the new PRT troopers, and either Miss Militia or Battery to assist you. Dragon remains hands-off.”_  
  
 _Armsmaster frowns. “Director…”_  
  
 _“You get her equipment and nothing else, Armsmaster. I can’t have a member of the Guild interfering without bringing up questions of our competence. Is that understood?” Piggot stares the larger man down, her sheer presence again making up for her physical weaknesses. “Armsmaster?”_  
  
 _“...Yes, ma’am,” Colin finally relents, bowing his head in defeat. “I’ll contact the others immediately.”_

* * *

**Earth Tet Adventures**

* * *

"...So what’ll it be, Audience? Me and _freedom_ , or Sir Napsalot here and a nice, cushy domestic life...in a literal hell on earth?”

“Goddammit,” you growl under your breath. “Fine, just look down at your legs and hold still.”  
  
Bambina complies, however fidgety with apprehension she may be, and you exert your power. With a series of smaller puffs from the miniature vacuums formed, you tear the containment foam off of her legs. Some of the displaced foam scatters around the wreckage of the van, while other bits likely vanish into alternate earths or dimensions.  
  
In only a minute or two, you’ve managed to remove almost all of the foam from the girl’s legs. She shoots you a wide grin and then activates her _own_ ability which obliterates the rest of the restraining measures in a blast of flames.  
  
“That’s a _lot_ fucking better,” she grouses, rising to her feet. After the repeated abuse that her clothes have gotten, her prison uniform has ended up more like a ragged skirt and crop top than anything. The girl has, unsurprisingly, almost no curves to speak of, but the flash of bare legs catches your eye anyway. Again. She follows your gaze and scoffs. “In your dreams, bitch. Do the words ‘almost legal’ mean anything to you?”  
  
You clear your throat uncomfortably. That’s...that’s not what you were thinking of. “Hey, just help me with this guy now, okay?”  
  
“Fuck no!” This time, Bambina doesn’t even attempt to hold back the explosion that accompanies her anger. The metal around her gleams brightly from the sudden release of heat. “Let me give it to you straight, Mister Charity: you look out for _numero uno_ first and foremost. This asshole is only gonna slow us down and the cops are right on our heads!”  
  
“If I get all of us out of here, we’ll come out on top in the long run, trust me,” you insist.  
  
The girl turns on her heel to pointedly look away from you. You can see her cross her arms and kick up a toe behind herself, digging it viciously into the ground. “Make it fast.”  
  
 _God-_ fucking- _dammit,_ you rephrase mentally, turning away from her. You can hear the sirens almost on top of you two, and you’re no closer to unburying Blasto. Without any other spectators to supplement your power, progress is almost nonexistent.  
  
This would be a hell of a lot easier if there were more people around, a bit of cruel irony that twists your face into a grin despite yourself. Tons of people are what got you into this mess in the first place, it’s only fitting that they’re also the key to getting you out of _every_ tight spot.  
  
The sirens stop. Tire treads crunch over the gravelly turf that you’re standing on. There’s a click and a flash, and then several glaring spotlights are piercing the darkness of the spring night. Great. They’re going through all the motions.  
  
“This is the PRT!” a tinny voice bellows over a megaphone. “Unidentified parahumans, please raise your hands above your heads and consent to be restrained until you can be processed.”  
  
“Hell no is that happening again,” you say, only loud enough for your younger companion to hear. With the eyes of half a dozen PRT troopers on you, it’s almost child’s play to teleport Blasto out of the containment foam. He flops to the ground a scant few feet away from the van. _Just a false start._ You exercise your power again, and he reappears a dozen yards away from you, in the opposite direction of the cops. “Shit.”  
  
You attempt to teleport the tinker to safety once more when you hear the sharp crack of an explosion. In the next instant, Bambina’s smaller arms are wrapped around your waist and the two of you are virtually _flying_ over a stack of shipping containers and far out of sight of the PRT.  
  
“ _Fuck!_ ” you holler over the roaring of air in your eyes. You hit the ground and bounce again, almost _diagonally_ this time. Bambina just lets out a whoop of delight that dies out as soon as the two of you touch ground on a rooftop.  
  
“Holy fuck that was so awesome!” the girl crows, throwing out her arms jubilantly. She twirls around like a ballerina, gleeful smirk plastered on her face. “Tell me that wasn’t awesome. Go on, Tommy-boy, fuckin’ try! That! Was! The best!”  
  
“What the hell, Helena!” you snap. You grab her by the shoulder and jerk her around to face you. “I was trying to take Blasto _with_ us, goddammit! We need all the help we can get!”  
  
You’re so caught up in your anger that you hardly notice as Bambina’s expression darkens. At least not until she reacts. She slaps your hand off of her shoulder, exceptionally strong for a girl of her size.  
  
“First of all, don’t _ever_ fucking touch me like that,” she intones, taking a step closer to you. She shoves you in the middle of your gut, and you stagger back, startled. “Secondly, don’t _fucking_ call me that when I’m in _cape_ mode, shitbrains. You get to see a bit of leg and ass ‘cause my clothes are torn, and you think we’re buds? We’re not. _Pal_.”  
  
You manage to hold up a hand in an attempt to placate her. “Bambina…”  
  
“And thirdly, stop being such a motherfucking pussy!” Bambina snaps. Her finger jabs into your chest. “Soon as I started yelling at you, you fucking _folded_. What are you, a baby? I can’t be seen with Assto because everyone knows he’s a goddamn pushover. If you start acting the same, well…”  
  
“I’m not being a pussy,” you reply. Your voice is quiet, but firm, and the girl relents. “I’m trying to be practical. I could have talked us out of a bad situation with the PRT and we would be better off. We’d come out on top, rather than running and looking like cowards for our first impression.”  
  
“First impression?” Bambina scowls. “I’ve run into the PRT before, newbie. They know me.”  
  
“These guys might not,” you shoot back. You point a finger skywards. “See that sky? Not Brockton Bay’s normal sky, trust me, I’ve been here more than once. The temperature’s way too cold for Brockton Bay, too - it can’t be warmer than mid-fifties right now. It should be almost seventy degrees in Brockton.”  
  
“But…” The girl furrows her brow cutely as she stops and concentrates. “My power says we’re in Brockton.”  
  
“Parallel universe,” comes your response. You don’t even hesitate. It makes sense, now. “Whatever was making my power go haywire in the van, it gave me the juice to bring us over here. Wherever...here is.”  
  
Bambina mouths the words ‘parallel universe.’ “Okay. Maybe you’ve got a point. We _coulda_ hashed things out with the pigs. I owe you one there. But then you do _me_ a favor.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. Stop treating me like a _child!_ ” she says angrily. Fire flares around her feet. “Maybe I don’t look like it, but I’ve been fending for myself for long enough, got it? I could’ve handled those cops just as easy as you. _Easier_ , with my looks.”  
  
“You can fight, but can you hold a civil conversation?” you retort.  
  
“Hell yes. I. Can.” Bambina grits out through clenched teeth. “You want to play it safe? Fine. I can _dig_ it. But don’t treat me with kid gloves. I’m not a _baby_.”

The two of you glare at each other in uneasy silence for several tense moments, her piercing green stare boring into your own brown eyes. This time, you note with some pleasure, she’s the one who gives in first.  
  
“Whatever. We should split before someone finds us. I’m still practically naked,” Bambina grumbles. “And I need a goddamn shirt. My nips are hard as fucking _titanium_.”  
  
“I can assure you, the PRT won’t condemn a parahuman of all people for indecent exposure,” a new, feminine voice cuts in, sounding amused. “At worst, you’d receive a gentle reprimand. And those are _nothing_ to shy away from.”  
  
The two of you, not expecting an audience, startle at the intrusion. You look up, and see the familiar figure of Miss Militia. Sort of.  
  
“What.” The word falls out of your mouth before you can contain yourself...not that you can think of a better response in the following moments.  
  
The woman who stands before you is _hardly_ recognizable as the famous heroine. Her signature flak jacket is missing, and the only thing that covers her torso is a camo-print sports bra. This serves to expose _miles_ of toned belly, trailing down to the low-slung waistband of her fatigues. The pants aren’t that much more modest, with strategic cutouts that expose the bronzed flesh of her hips, thighs, and calves.  
  
In fact, the only parts of her costume that seem unchanged from what _you_ recognize are the heavy-duty combat boots that are laced up to mid-calf (which does _not_ make her outfit any less sexy, in your humble opinion) and her flag print scarf. Even then, one end of the scarf drapes down tantalizingly over her straining bust.  
  
You swallow hard. You’re pretty sure Helena does too.  
  
The Protectorate member isn’t alone, either. Hell, you _recognize_ the girl at her side - Flechette, a New York Ward who’s made more than one appearance in Boston. What is she doing in Brockton Bay?  
  
 _More importantly, what is she wearing?_  
  
The girl’s costume has been similarly abbreviated; gone is her stylized armor, her unwieldy quiver, her utility belt. She wears a ragged purple tank top with arrow-shaped tears made across her taut stomach, her breasts, and her shoulders. A bandolier stretches from shoulder to hip, which is quite possibly the only thing holding up her high-waisted booty shorts. You swallow again. Now you get why they’re called booty shorts.  
  
Your eyes meander down from her shapely hips to her very nice-looking legs, reach the pale ankles that peek out over the low tops of her converse shoes, and snap back up to see her amused half-smile. Shit, even her usual visor is gone, replaced by a pair of Ray-Ban’s. A pair of metal chopsticks pin up her dark, mussed hair. Seriously?  
  
 _What kind of world is this?_  
  
“Disappointed to see us?” Miss Militia asks teasingly. “You looked rather frightened when we interrupted you.”  
  
Her words aren’t threatening, but they convey the tone of a woman who is expecting compliance. _If she wears that outfit around the containment cells, compliance might not be so bad._ You quash the inappropriate feelings. Now is really not the time to indulge in sexual fantasies...you’re pretty sure of that.  
  
“Actually-” you start to speak, only to be cut off by a small, cold hand that clenches around your forearm. You look down into the most serious expression on Bambina’s face that you’ve seen. With her cheeks flushed pink from the chilly air and her delicate features twisted in an attempt to convey _some_ meaningful intention, she actually looks rather alluring. You’re definitely not counting the half-naked part. _Definitely_.  
  
“Let _me_ do the talking, Audience,” the girl hisses to you. She musters up her best approximation of doe eyes, but only manages to look slightly less angry and _slightly_ more appealing. _That is, relative to a discount ‘Lolita,’_ you remind yourself firmly. She tugs on your arm again, harder. “Trust me, I can deal with heroes just fine.”  
  
“Well…” you try again.  
  
Miss Militia arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you. Flechette leans forward on her oversized crossbow like a crutch, doing a lot to accentuate her modest bust, but the Ward is obviously impatient. Bambina continues to gaze up at you, her countenance pleading, and surprisingly devoid of anger or annoyance.  
  
“Just give me a shot, _Audience_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Votes:
> 
> [] Contact Hannah. She’s got far more on her plate than Battery, but she knows Colin better and he finds her easier to relate to.  
> [] “I know you’re not just a child.”  
> [] Let Bambina direct the conversation.  
> [] [Name] Prestige

**Author's Note:**

> Votes:
> 
> [] Helping others matters to you.
> 
> [] Use your powers to free Bambina from her containment foam. The girl is a bit unstable, sure, but she seems to like you, and you can’t deny that she has firepower. Heck, aren’t the younger parahumans supposed to be stronger by nature?


End file.
